Stoke's Drag
by Spaz-kun
Summary: When George and Draco form a grudging and unlikely partnership to try and revive those stolen from them by the War, Angelina is torn between helping or discouraging their efforts.   Theirs is a valiant attempt to thwart Death. Angeorfoy camaraderie.


Welcome to the story!

_"The thing about growing up with Fred and George," said Ginny thoughtfully, "is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."_

This quote was the catalyst that eventually led me to conjure this tale of a valiant attempt to thwart Death. It's a tale about finding friendship and acceptance in the unlikeliest of places. It's a tale about love's ability to blossom where it was once thought nonexistent, and most importantly, a story about self discovery.

In advance, The protagonists are George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, and Draco Malfoy. Angeorfoy.

Reviews are always appreciated.

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><p><strong><em>Stoke's Drag<em>**

"Where to, tonight?"

"Anywhere. I don't give a damn." He cupped a hand around the end of his cigarette, taking lengthy drag and grimacing at the sky. "You don't like this part of town much?"

The hooded figure beside him snorted derisively, linking an arm in his as they walked deeper into Knockturn Alley. "It isn't so bad once you get used to the stench. It's almost as foul as your mood these days, friend."

Smoke wafted from the man's lack-luster grin. His hard, brown eyes seemed just as jaded as he gazed at the thickly robed woman beside him. What with her cowl, he could barely make out the wry smile she wore, but he knew that face of hers almost as well as his own.

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" He murmured, reaching lazily for her hood, but she caught his wrist and squeezed.

"You know that's not the case," she hissed, her previously sardonic demeanor suddenly gone and replaced by a sort of bleak remorse as her grip grew gentler and she rubbed a thumb against the man's worn knuckles absently. "They've doubled the watch tonight. The Aurors must've caught wind of something foul brewing in London, else I would've come to find you earlier."

She gave him a sidelong glance, and for a moment, he glimpsed her warm, dark eyes intent upon his. His throat went dry and he swiped at the cigarette in his mouth so he could swallow right while averting his gaze onto the cobble-stone street. It had been a few months since they'd seen each other's faces in proper daylight, and…he'd forgotten how beautiful she was. The War hadn't changed her as badly as it had him. Asides a knotted scar that now traversed her lips, Angelina Johnson was still as stunning as ever to him. Less vibrant, maybe, and her voice had lost its usual scathing edge over the year, but lovely nonetheless.

"It's alright," he said with a resigned sort of smile, turning away from her to continue plodding down the alley. He noticed her hesitate for a moment before following him.

"Don't really know why you spend so much time here, George," she said, rubbing her arms.

"Better than it used to be," he replied over his shoulder. "You-Know-Who is long gone, so none of the lowlifes around here have any real motivation these days. The Aurors will remove the curfew soon enough, you'll see."

"It will be easier to see each other, then. I'd like that very much."

George didn't reply, and Angelina knew it was because she was walking on his deaf side; messy orange hair was hastily smoothed over where his left ear should be, and the asymmetrical cut made the man look constantly out of sorts.

She was glad he hadn't heard, realizing that she'd spoken a tad more tenderly than she'd meant to.

A few moments passed and George slowed his pace to match hers. They walked side by side, and it wasn't lost on her that George had his wand fisted tightly inside his coat pocket.

It was dark now, the ramshackle shops lining the street having closed hours ago, and only the occasional wizard could be seen shuffling down the cobblestones. Eye contact was never made, and Angelina hugged her robe tighter around herself as they passed the only impressive shop inside of Knockturn, Borgin and Burkes. Many of its windows were shattered and wooden planks nailed to the doors. After Voldemort's initial downfall and the Auror's ruthless crack down on potential nests for the Dark Arts almost a year before, sinister veins like Knockturn Alley had eventually run dry.

But the wizards who did stay were the ones who'd been there the longest, the wizards with the deepest prejudices and most questionable pasts. The ones who cared about the Dark Arts for what they were, and not overt worshipers of Voldemort and his agenda.

That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Angelina hunched her shoulders and fingered the wand tucked up her sweater sleeve, glad that the more brightly lit Diagon Alley was just up ahead as a wheezing witch with a luminescent yellow eye limped slowly past before disapparating altogether.

"Leaky Cauldron?" she asked briskly, attempting to mask her discomfort; George offered a curt nod, and a few steps later they surfaced in the yellow-bathed half light of Diagon Ally.

"Thank you," he murmured, once again reaching for Angelina's cowl, and this time, she let him tug it off. George gazed down at her, cracking a soft smile. "You've always hated Knockturn. Means the world you still come by to visit, Angelina. Just promise me you'll never let Percy know how to get past the Aurors after curfew, I get enough of him at home when he visits weekends."

He tossed his cigarette and winked amicably before sauntering on ahead.

The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty at this hour; and they sat across from each other in a corner of the tavern where the candlelight couldn't quite reach them. George nursed a glass of firewhiskey and was quiet for a longtime before searching Angelina's eyes with a sort of palpable grief that hadn't been there moments ago.

"I miss him, Angie."

A pause. "I do too."

"But not like _this_," he insisted in a harsh whisper. "Not like me."

Angelina shook her head, eyes intent upon the way the man's hands shook as he squeezed his glass. His nails were bitten down to the quick and his knuckles rougher than she remembered them being.

"Back at the shop, sometimes I feel…crazy, you know? I start thinking things, impossible things, _wrong_ things, Angie."

Angelina glanced at him sharply, brows knit together and a brutal snarl on her lips causing her scar to knot unpleasantly.

"If I ever hear you talking about killing yourself again, George Weasley, I swear upon Goderic's hallowed grave I'll do you the favor myse-"

A warm, rough hand clasping around hers stopped the crescendo dead in its tracks; George rested his brow against her knuckles, shoulders shaking slightly, and Angelina fearfully wondered if she'd come across to harshly before she heard the undignified snort of laughter George allowed himself to make.

"Angelina, I may have bouts of sociopathic brilliance, but I'm no coward," he said, a sudden adamant fierceness overtaking his eyes and grin that was reminiscent of the old Fred and George; Angelina was startled into silence by how much she missed the beauty of his exuberance. After Fred had passed, it seemed he'd taken George's spirit to the grave with him. It pained her to know that this smile of his would be as fleeting as the rest he'd managed to offer her over the past year.

"I don't plan on joining Fred for a long time. He'll be joining _us_."

The hands around hers squeezed harder, and George's smile faded, though the determination was potent as ever before, even as Angelina's stomach seemed to turn to stone and drop to the bottom of her belly.

She was already shaking her head and tried to pull away when George grasped her hands almost painfully and whispered, "I'm bringing Fred back. I'm bringing him back to the world of the living."

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><p>AN: Trust me when I say this has the potential to span enough characters and moments and chapters to be a full-length book.


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